


The Red Shoes

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [72]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Facebook: Mystrade is our Division Fic Prompts, M/M, Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22468714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: Greg, Mycroft and a few minions are cleaning out Greg's flat as he prepares to move in with Mycroft when a memento from Greg's past is found.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [72]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1090899
Comments: 8
Kudos: 79





	The Red Shoes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts | Shoes

After years of knowing each other, with the past three years of being lovers dividing time between their respective residences, Mycroft Holmes and Gregory Lestrade shocked everyone when they finally made honest men of each other and had eloped with only John and Sherlock as attendees and witnesses.

There was no question that the detective inspector was moving from his tiny flat into the domicile of the British Government who owned a large, secure townhouse in the City of London. But first, Gregory had to go through his belongings. He did not trust Mycroft’s minions to determine what was or was not worth keeping of his belongings and had insisted on overseeing what got packed. They easily agreed, the “chain mail” vest made from beverage pull tabs, yes - mostly beer tabs, from when he was a teen, was definitely not coming. However, the misshapen ash tray made by his then four-year-old, now sixteen-year-old niece was definitely going to find a place in Mycroft’s town house.

 _Their_ _townhouse,_ he corrected himself as he looked around at the boxes stacked in the living room of what would be his former home in a matter of hours and smiled.

“Gregory?”

He was finished in the living room when he heard his husband call out to him.

_My husband. I still can’t believe I get to call him that._

There was something in the way Mycroft called his name from the bedroom that gave Greg pause. He went into the room. It was weird seeing one of Mycroft’s minions in the near empty room as he taped the last of the clothing boxes closed. Another secured the wardrobe that going to donation along with most of his furniture. Greg had left it up Mycroft and his excellent taste in clothes to decide what footwear was worth saving or should be trashed. Mycroft sat on a stool sorting shoes as a third minion packed them. Greg was happy to see most of his footwear made it to the boxes, what was left he could not complain about.

However, the pair of shoes that Mycroft dangled from his fingers were a different story.

_Shite! I forgot about those!_

The shoes were a pair of bright red patent leather Mary-janes, decorated with gold chains for the straps, and adorned with rhinestones and studs along the sides. On the toe box were what looked like jewel encrusted crests. The small woman’s shoes clearly did not belong to him.

“Where did you get these?” Mycroft looked at him curiously.

Were he not so distracted by the sight of the shoes Greg might have noticed the rare look of genuine surprise look on his husband’s face or noted more of the odd tone in his voice.

Instead Gregory crouched next to Mycroft and took the shoes as memories flooded him.

> _“I… I can’t do what you want…”_
> 
> _“There’s no one else who can. Take these!”_
> 
> _“No. What you’re asking of me… No!”_
> 
> _“Please!”_

Peripherally he noted as Mycroft silently signaled the minions to leave. He heard when the bedroom door softly closed.

“Gregory?” Mycroft gently touched his arm with concern when he had not spoken.

“It was a year or so before I met Sherlock and then you. A drug bust I uncovered also unearthed an international child prostitution ring in another country so I was working with the Vice Unit for a while and spent some time there. A woman who worked for the royals in that country somehow learned I was a cop here. She came to me to save her young teenage daughter. Her husband had been killed because he owed the gangs there big money. They told her she now owed that debt and that she now worked for them. It turned out that her daughter highly favored one daughters of their royal family. When the royal daughter received a pair of shoes like these for her birthday, the mother said two days later her daughter received a pair out of the blue. She had them with her, she showed me the shoes. She knew that there were sickos out there who would rape her underage child because she looked like the royal daughter so they could pretend to fuck the real royal child. I had told her I was going home soon, I couldn’t. She begged me – _begged_ me.” Greg shuddered as the memory of her pleading voice replayed in his mind again.

> _“Lestrade, please! PLEASE!”_
> 
> _“I’m sorry… So sorry… No…”_

He had not realized there were tears in his eyes until he lifted his head and realized his vision was blurred.

“What happened?” Mycroft took the shoes from Greg and held them.

“It was my first international case. Were we in London, I would have known how to help her. Where she was, I did not know who to trust, so I went by the books and had her to go through the proper channels. Unfortunately, it was how I learned someone in the proper channels was the crooked party. Their specialty was finding royal lookalikes and I had all but handed the daughter to them. I was able to rescue the girl and help break the prostitution ring, but not before she had been…used. Badly. She and the mother were fighters. It showed in the bruises both sported when her mother came to pick her up.”

Greg ran a hand through his hair and rested it on the back of his neck.

“Somehow their royal family found out and was there. The sixteen-year-old princess met the fourteen-year-lookalike old daughter. When they stood together it was easy to tell them apart, but you could easily see how the daughter was used the way she had been. The girls were in a room together as the adults talked. It was all a circus show. I knew once the cameras were off, the royal family – at least the adults, would forgot about the mother and daughter as soon as their feet crossed the exit threshold.”

Greg’s voice had grown tight as he thought about that meeting. It was a photo op for the royals – nothing more.

“The daughter was still dressed as we had found her. Once the royals were gone, the mother was upset because the teen still wore what she called _those whore clothes and shoes_. I went with her and we got the daughter new clothes and shoes. I took them to dinner. The mother handed me that bag you found the shoes in, saying she had money, and begged once more for my help.”

> _“It is not over for those like she and I, Lestrade. They will come for her again. It is NEVER over.”_

“I tried to explain to her how we arrested everyone that had hurt her daughter, that everything was fine. We had an ironclad case. They were going down. That was the day before I left for home. That was the last time I saw them. A couple of weeks after I was back in London I found out that the mother and daughter were dead. Apparently, we had broken part of the ring, but not all of it. Just that fast someone else had picked up the reins; set up shop and threatened them: a new pair of red shoes had shown up at their door. She and the daughter purposely ingested poison rather than be used by them again. I saw the photos, whatever they took it was fast and painful.”

Gregory picked up the shoes again and held them in his hands. “I had found the shoe bag when I got back to my hotel after that dinner and packed it as a token of my triumph. After their deaths, they became token of my shame. I did everything by the book and the book _failed_. I couldn’t bear to look at them, but I could not bear to forget, so I placed the bag in the back of the wardrobe.”

Gregory frowned as he looked at the shoes carefully.

“What is it?” Mycroft asked seeing his expression. Greg suspected Mycroft already knew the answer.

“The shoes the mother originally showed were quality knock- offs, but knock offs nonetheless. When she picked her daughter up the shoes had been well-worn and did not have these jewels on them.” Greg turned the shoes over in his hands and showed Mycroft the near pristine soles. He pulled at the jewel and it slid off. The crested jewels were a clip on earring. Greg pulled the earring from the other shoe and held them both in one hand.

“When she asked me again to help her she had said she had money and gave me the shoe bag. I did not make the connection and had not really looked at them then. I put them in wardrobe and mostly forgot about them.” He held the shoes and the earrings in his hand as he turned them one way, then another letting them sparkle in the light. “Mycroft? Oh God! I – I think these earrings are real! And the jewels on the shoes too!”

“Those jewels are real, Gregory.” Mycroft took an earring and held it up admiringly.

“Seriously?!”

“I know real gems when I see them. These are exquisite.” Mycroft explained and then spoke two names.

“How the bloody hell?” Greg gasped hearing the names of the long dead mother and daughter. Names Greg knows he has never spoken to Mycroft.

“These shoes once belong to the royal daughter you spoke of. I’d have to check the dates of when you were there, but I would wager that at least two or three months had passed before the loss was noted. Some royal families are that wealthy that it would take a while to notice a pair of shoes or such baubles were missing. Anthea and a royal from another nation was visiting that country, oh there is a story behind that I will tell another time, but it was Anthea who saw that the shoes the royal daughter wore were fake. She was nearly jailed as the presumed thief for it. I was able to able to prove her innocence, handle a diplomatic incident involving the visiting royal, and had tracked the jewels to the mother. Alas, with her death, it was presumed the jewels were found, broken apart and then fenced off or they were otherwise lost to the world when no sign of the shoes nor pieces of the gems surfaced.” Mycroft put the earrings back on the shoes and place them in Gregory’s hand. “The mother must have stolen the earrings and it was the young daughters themselves who switched shoes. The mother had not lied when she left you her ill-gotten goods to help her daughter. You have had close to a couple of million Pounds in jewels just gathering dust in your wardrobe all this time.”

“Oh. My. _God!_ ” Greg went slack-jawed. “What do I do?”

“Honestly? It has been well over a decade. Do nothing.” Mycroft took the shoes from Greg, placed them in their cloth bag and packed them with the rest. “You kept them as the price of being earnest. Continue to do so.”

“Perhaps…” Greg stood.

“Perhaps…?” Mycroft prompted at his pause.

“I can’t keep that. I can’t…” Gregory picked up the bag with the shoes out of the box, gave them to Mycroft and walked to the door. “Please find me duplicates or have duplicates of these made to serve their intended purpose as reminder. Take these to…wherever. Get the most bang for the buck and donate that money to a group that specializes in the prevention of child prostitution and human trafficking. These were from that mother to help her daughter escape, let it help others."

“You are a good man Gregory Lestrade-Holmes.” Mycroft slowly stood. “In fact, a very good one, love.”

Greg could not help the small smile that played across his lips as he watched as Mycroft's long legs rose to full height and walked over to him.

“That’s why you married me, my love. Your gorgeous self is not so bad either for someone who occupies a minor office with the government.” Greg looked up into the cool grey eyes that are his joy to see into the depths of everyday. An imperious auburn brow rose, and Greg just knew Mycroft was going to say something biting about his sentiment.

“Well that and the fact that you are one _fantastic_ shag.” Mycroft smirked instead, “however, it has been a few hours. I think it is time to test the continued veracity of such.”

Greg snorted at the unexpected levity which he knew was Mycroft’s intention. He looked at his deconstructed bed that leaned against one of the walls, “if only there was a bed available. It could be verified easily.”

“Well, I do know where there is a big cushy bed just waiting for the honor to be used in such testing.” Mycroft grinned as he wrapped his arms around Greg.

“Then I suggest not letting that bed wait any longer than necessary. Its honor is not the only one at stake.” Greg teased, “I can’t let my fantastic shag record remain unverified. Your people can finish up in here, can we go home?”

Mycroft picked up the bag with the red shoes. “Yes, we can.”


End file.
